A Poem For Me. But Really For the One I Adore.

The smoke adheres to a crumbling heart

Shortcircuiting synapses aeons apart

Of course this was all taught in schools,

Do not mess with that shit, you obnoxious fools

You are stupid enough, do not let that fog your brain

But for people like me, we like to live the insane

Life, where mistakes are no lessons, just heap upon heap

Of shepherds just guiding their plural of sheep

Right over the cliff, where life becomes lamb

Or Mutton, or Hoggett, I don’t give a damn

Then again and again and again, then once more

Because Smack needs to invade and rape every pore

And it feels like a duvet that has been drenched

In sunbeams, and then spundry in a laudromat unclenched

By Persil or other such stuff. I can’t really talk though

For my body is a temple to whatever will go

In a needle or on foil, or a tablet or pill

The God that I pray to is exceptionally ill.

Maybe like me without the deity bit,

For that is something I don’t even attempt to make fit

Into a life full of more than just that of seven deadly sins

I have reached beyond Satan and his two faced chins.

So a duvet it is, spundry with such fair yet false dawns

A cliché I know but I am not Somerset Maugham’s

Protegé, (ooh look) two French words in two lines

So perhaps I am working on other designs

Not killing myself for the sake of a fix

It would all be much quicker if a plane full of bricks

Slammed into my cortex at infinte speed

Removing me from the pain that has no real need

To be on this earth hurting all manner of souls

Of course, the ones I regret most are desperate heartholes

Burning with regret and like lead weight in silk glove

Because as you all know, it is the one’s that you love

Who feel more despair and destruction than you

And this rhyming could go on and on for a while

But as they all say ‘Just one more’.

Said with such a truly meant smile.

I have though now found what I was searching before

The very best thing in the universe.

Love.